


Unfinished Captaincy

by spycandy



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Promotion, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:52:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spycandy/pseuds/spycandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos struggles with his new role, while Treville's ghost offers advice to everyone except for the man who needs it most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Captaincy

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Athos or Treville die from Mentor Occupational Hazard but they stick around, to offer the guys (unwanted) ghostly advice. Can be played humurous or tragic.

“How’s it going captain?”

Athos could tell that it was an effort of will for Aramis not to put a teasing inflection on the final word. It was going to take some getting used to for all of them - and that was without considering the vexed question of whether it was ever truly possible to be friends with men under your command in the same way they had been as equals.

“I’m making progress, I think,” said Athos. He wasn’t. How could he? It was his first task as captain of the musketeers, but it was also burying his mentor, the man who had given him back a place in the world when he thought there might be nowhere left for him. This was no fake funeral, no clever scheme, and thanks to Treville’s long royal service, it would be a much grander occasion than an ordinary soldier’s farewell. Every time he tried to start on the plans he was overwhelmed by the loss and ended up staring, numb and unseeing at the clutter on the desk in front of him.

“I still can’t believe he’s really gone,” said Aramis.

But it had been two days since they had both knelt in the mud beside Captain Treville as he struggled to force his final words past the pain of the chest wound that was rapidly darkening his uniform. “So proud… Always,” he had said, and then closed his eyes, as if simply going to sleep.

“I know,” said Athos, looking back down at the desk. “I feel like he’s here, watching me get this all wrong.”

He heard a strangled yelp from Aramis, which he took as an objection to his self-deprecation. But it was true, he felt Treville’s presence everywhere in this office, could almost hear the pacing of his boots across the floor. And Treville would hardly have approved of melancholy reverie when there was work to be done.

“You aren’t getting it wrong Athos,” said Aramis after a moment, “But let us help with this, please? Being in charge doesn’t mean you have to take _this_ on alone.”

He nodded and Aramis went to call Porthos and d’Artagnan up from the yard. As he did so, a breeze, which must have come from the briefly open door, shifted the papers on the desk, uncovering an earlier draft of the funeral schedule and, looked at afresh, Athos could suddenly see how to start to make it workable.

***

The yelp had not been a response to Athos’s words, although it did hurt to see the man look so lost and hurt in the role that anyone with a lick of sense could see he was born to fill.

No, the yelp had been because right behind his careworn friend, the shimmering outline of their late captain had appeared, gradually solidifying, until he was simply a slightly translucent shade of his former self. The ghost - it was either a ghost or a figment of his grief-addled mind and Aramis was reasonably confident of his own sanity - lifted a finger to its lips.

“Help him,” it said.

There was no suggestion that Athos had heard the words, or was aware that his notion that Treville was watching over him might be truly the case. But at any rate, the ghost was right. Athos clearly did need help with this and had no idea how to ask for it, when he had only just been given the burden of command. 

But Treville had been more than just a commanding officer for all of them and it would be right for all of them to share this sad task, as brothers should for a father, without letting it all fall on the eldest.

The Late Captain Treville nodded agreement with his words, and as Aramis went to call for the others, he saw the ghost stoop over the desk and brush some papers aside, still unnoticed by Athos. By the time he returned with Porthos and d’Artagnan in tow, the ghost was gone.

With all four of them working on the plans, and keeping each other distracted from too much silent grief, they soon had enough for Athos to take to the palace.

***

“Argh! What the...!” D’Artagnan, who had already been on the back foot in the bout, skittered backwards into a puddle, slipped and crashed onto his backside, looking a lot more alarmed than a stumble in training merited. “Did anyone else hear that?”

“Hear what?” asked Porthos, offering a hand to haul him out of the mud.

“I swear, Captain Treville just told me to keep my shoulders level,” said d’Artagnan.

Porthos gave him a look of sympathy. “Lad, you know the captain’s been gone a month. Mind you, your imagination’s not wrong. Your stance was very lop-sided there. You got a crick in the neck or something?” 

“I wasn’t imagining it.”

That worried Porthos. They’d all taken the loss pretty hard, but you had to accept death and move on. You couldn’t go clinging to hearing people’s voices once they were gone.

“No, you weren’t imagining it,” said Aramis, who had been watching the pair train. “I was starting to think maybe I was at first. But he’s here all right.”

“What?” said Porthos. D’Artagnan looked equally doubtful, despite what he had just claimed.

“He’s haunting the garrison. I’m not the only one who’s seen him. Jacques says he’s a regular visitor to the stables and kicks up a proper ghostly fuss if the tack isn’t in perfect order.”

“He always was particular about that,” said Porthos. “But if you knew about this, why haven’t you said anything before?”

“He, Treville that is, asked me not to. Said it was hardly fair on a new captain to have the old one constantly looking over his shoulder.”

That sounded so much like Treville, that Porthos was almost convinced, despite how preposterous the idea was. If it was a joke, it was one in fairly poor taste.

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to apply to me,” added Aramis. “Yesterday he appeared in my room to nag me to get my boots repaired. And the day before, just to chivvy me to be on time for duty, which I was going to be anyway.”

“But why would Treville even be a ghost?” asked d’Artagnan. “He was a good man in life, shouldn’t his soul be at rest now?”

“I don’t know,” said Aramis. “Perhaps the Lord still had some work for him to complete here.”

“Enough metaphysics, get back to training you lot,” said a familiar voice, which didn’t belong to either of the two men in front of Porthos. “D’Artagnan, loosen up your shoulders and neck first, that tight muscle is still ruining your balance. Porthos, pay less attention to your audience and more to your opponent. Now, _en garde_.”

*** 

Despite the separation imposed by his new role, the rumour that the regiment was being haunted by its former leader reached Athos only a few days later. And it soon became clear that the story was spreading through his men.

“But Captain Treville said…” began Henri Navas, standing in the upstairs office that Athos still wasn’t used to thinking of as his own. Navas was an experienced but unimaginative soldier and it did seem very much unlike him to suddenly take it into his head to try to improve their black powder mix.

“I’m the captain here now Navas.” Athos suspected he should try to sound more cross than weary, but he couldn’t quite muster the anger for it. “The idea isn’t a bad one but you need to ask me before messing about with our ammunition. We generally try not to injure musketeers within our own garrison. Get out.”

After more than an hour of churning thought on the matter, he still didn’t know what to do, so he sent for Porthos, Aramis and d’Artagnan, berating himself for having to fall back on them. He was nevertheless relieved to see them rushing into the office, ready to help with anything. 

“This ghost rumour,” he said. “You’ve all heard it?”

He was surprised to find that none of them would meet his eyes, Aramis and Porthos studying their boots, while d’Artagnan gazed into a corner.

“What? You’re responsible for it? It’s some kind of tasteless prank?” asked Athos.

“No!” said d’Artagnan, his face a picture of earnestness. “It’s real. It’s true. He’s here, looking out for us.” 

“D’Artagnan…” Both Aramis and Porthos tried to interrupt. But Athos could read their faces too well. They’d all seen the ghost, except for him. And it hurt more than a little that Captain Treville hadn’t visited him at all, when he so badly missed the man.

“Damn it,” said Athos, dropping his head into his hands, which were propped on the desk. “If Treville is haunting the place, couldn’t he at least tell me how to do this bloody job.” 

Running the regiment wasn’t turning out to be too difficult so far. His close friends had proven remarkably biddable, causing him none of the headaches he knew they had together caused Treville, and their example seemed to be helping to keep the others in line, ill-timed black powder experiments aside. But the court was another matter.

Even ordinary guard duty had told him the king could be capricious and difficult to deal with. But now that he was regularly called upon to give advice in private conference, he had no idea how to deal with Louis’s worse moods. He did his best to counter some of the dafter ideas, but it felt like constantly walking a tightrope between dangerous obedience and treason.

And then there was Richelieu. He hadn’t given Athos any real trouble yet, but that in itself was worrying. The first minister was no doubt making good use of the musketeers’ confusion after Treville’s death to put all kinds of strategems in place. All in all, Athos felt the ghost of Treville was probably pretty disappointed in him. 

“Athos, I’m sorry.”

“Sir,” said Athos, head shooting up from the desk. The ghost in front of him looked exactly as Treville had in life, uninjured and dressed in his best dress uniform, although in life, it had not been possible to see right through the captain.

“I didn’t come to you before because I wanted to let you find your own feet in this. But I think perhaps this is the unfinished business that’s holding me here. Will you let me give you some advice?”

***  
They sat together at the top of the stairs overlooking the yard, Athos enjoying the last of the day’s sunshine after being cooped up in palaces and offices for too many days.

“The king’s a good person mostly,” said Treville. “And he actually likes to be contradicted in private, so long as you never embarrass him in front of anyone else and explain your position without patronising him. And listen to him in return - he’s cleverer than he pretends, sometimes.”

Athos nodded. He’d spent the last hour nodding, trying to take everything in that his former captain could tell him.

“One day, you will have to deal with one of them doing something stupid,” went on Treville, indicating the trio sitting on the bench below, occasionally casting glances in the captains’ direction. “Try not to take it personally. But don’t let them get away with it either, the regiment understand friendship, but they won’t forgive favouritism of that kind.”

“Yes,” said Athos.

“All right,” said Treville. “I think that’s everything. No wait - I meant what I said when I was dying you know.”

“Sir? It was something about being proud. To have served, we thought.”

“No Athos,” said Treville, already fading. “Proud of you. Always. All four of you, but I think I’m allowed a little favouritism now that I’m dead.” And then he was gone.

Dazed, Athos got up and walked down the stairs to his friends.

“I think he’s gone for good now,” he told them, emotion making his voice hoarse. “He said he was proud of us.”

All three leapt to their feet, but it was Porthos who was first to swing an arm around his shoulders. “Come on captain,” he said. “Let’s go and get some dinner.” 

Ends


End file.
